


Oxidation

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:16:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4337066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arcade and M!Courier touch dingdongs in front of the NCR embassy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oxidation

The NCR embassy was the ugliest thing on the strip. The compound was brick pavers, a tattered flag, and two ugly, squat buildings made of unpainted cinderblock. The perimeter was chain-link and razor wire, patrolled by bored MP's. The heavily-trafficked courtyard was thick with dust and debris, old newspapers and empty cups blown in by the wind. Even the date palms in the raised planter beds were ugly: the trees were withered from neglect, gnarled and twisted like arthritic fingers. They hadn't borne fruit in generations, but they were large enough to confer some degree of privacy.

Arcade peered out at the courtyard through the leaves of the date palm. Five PM, and the sun was just beginning to set. All the casinos were open for business, but the streets were practically deserted. Arcade supposed that it was too early for debauchery. Most of the gamblers were still in their hotel rooms, mixing drinks and ironing their jackets, getting ready to try their luck.

The embassy courtyard was similarly empty. An off-duty Trooper loitered by the flagpole, reading a letter from home and smoking a fat cigar. There was an older couple sitting on a bench just outside the gate, giggling like newlyweds.

"So," he said, keeping his voice low. "That was sure something."

Ricky lit a cigarette, and Arcade knew from experience that there'd be no getting him to talk until he was through with it. He registered his irritation with a choreographed sigh, and returned his attention to the couple on the bench. A peck on the cheek had turned into heavy petting, and as he watched, the woman slipped a hand into the man's trousers. Arcade turned away, mortified, and cleared his throat.

True to form, Ricky ignored him. He took a drag, held it for a count of three, and exhaled slowly, through the nose. Arcade watched him, envy burning in his gut. He'd given up cigarettes on Julie's orders, but Ricky smoked constantly. He preferred expensive, hand-rolled cigarettes, the tobacco cut with a little marijuana, purchased from a friend-of-a-friend whose family farmed tobacco and mota in Baja. They were cigarettes worth selling your soul for; scarce as hen's teeth and worth their weight in gold.

Arcade never asked for a drag on principle, but his resolve weakened as he watched Ricky smoke. He reached his breaking point just as the Ricky took a final drag and let the cigarette fall from his fingers. He crushed the butt underfoot and fixed Arcade with an expectant stare.

"The ambassador," he said.

"What about him?" Ricky drawled. He stretched, back popping audibly, his untucked shirt riding up to reveal a trail of dark hair leading south from his navel.

Arcade couldn't help himself. His eyes flicked from Ricky's belly to his face to his broad, strong, hands. He swallowed thickly and chastised himself. "The ambassador," he said. "Freeside. The Kings. Pacer." Ricky was stretching again, doing it on purpose, the rotten bastard. "If we help the NCR, and I'm not saying we should," he said quickly, "Freeside is a powder keg. We can't kill Pacer and risk starting a turf war. We--"

"To be honest," drawled Ricky. "I wasn't listening to Crocker."

"Ricky--"

"I was thinking about your dick."

"Ricky," Arcade said, exasperated. "Can you please take this seriously? There are a lot of people in Freeside counting on you. I know everything's a great big joke to you, haha, but you're the only one laughing, and-"

"Come on Gannon," he said, "Don't be sore. I'll make it up to you." He closed the distance between them, gently backing Arcade into the wall. He stood on tip-toe, bracing himself against Arcade's chest, and kissed his neck.

Arcade's complaints died on his tongue. Ricky was a gadfly, five feet and six inches of concentrated stupid, but his mouth was hot and wet against Arcade's neck. He slid down the wall slightly, stooping and tipping his head back to allow the smaller man easier access to his throat. Ricky grunted and worked his hand into Arcade's jacket, pressing his palm flat against his heart. Ricky leaned into Arcade, laying his head on his shoulder. "I want to suck you," he said, "I want you to fuck my mouth. I want to choke on your cock. I want--"

His voice was hoarse, thick with desire. Arcade shuddered against him, skin prickling in anticipation. With difficulty, he shushed Ricky, and said, "Not here. If someone sees--"

Ricky interrupted him with a groan. "I don't care," he whined. "I can't wait, I need your cock." He was breathing hard, chest heaving. He kept one hand on Arcade's chest, the other wandered south. Arcade was halfway hard, and Ricky's touch was electricity against his flushed skin. He cupped Arcade's erect cock and whispered "Please" against his throat.

A needy, convulsive noise escaped Arcade's lips and his resolve crumbled. He swore, unable to resist any longer. Already sex-stupid and inarticulate, he growled "No teeth," and shoved Ricky to his knees.

The smaller man went to his knees without any protest, eagerly fumbling with Arcade's belt. It took him two tries to work the prong free of its hole, but his persistence paid off. He tugged the belt from the loops and dropped it impatiently on the ground while Arcade undid his fly. Ricky pulled his pants and underwear down, freeing Arcade's cock.

He licked his lips. "You're huge," he said, approvingly. He looked up, grinning. "Pull my hair."

"Fuck, just hurry up," Arcade hissed.

Ricky leaned forward and kissed Arcade's dick, the barest brush of lips against his glans. His tongue darted out to taste, and Arcade shuddered, screwing his eyes shut. Ricky played at inexperience, every touch halting and tentative, agonizingly gentle--goading.

Arcade growled in frustration and wound a fist through Ricky's thick, wavy hair. He forced his cock through Ricky's parted lips, into his hot, slick mouth. His head hit the back of Ricky's throat, and he gagged and shuddered, his throat opening up around Arcade's dick. Arcade began to thrust into Ricky's mouth. His tongue slid along Arcade's shaft as he pumped his hips, and Arcade twined his other hand through his hair.

He whined, and the sound reverberated along Arcade's cock. His other hand found its way into Ricky's hair, and his movements became frantic and uncoordinated--a moan rose in his throat, and he felt Ricky shiver underneath his hands. Arcade bit his lip and pounded into his soft, pliant mouth, relishing the sight of precum and saliva running down his chin.

It sent Arcade over the edge. He came with a squawk, and Ricky struggled to swallow his spunk, choking and gagging with each spurt. Arcade pulled out with an audible pop, and his seed dripped down and landed on Ricky's shirt. His lips were puffy and swollen from abuse, slick and shiny with spit and come.

Arcade fell back against the wall, loose-limbed and shivering. He felt like he'd come hard enough to knock his fillings loose. "Christ Ricky," he said hoarsely. "Anyone could have been watching." He packed his dick away with trembling hands.

"I think they were," Ricky said, leaning against the wall to pull himself up. "Can't blame 'em. You're a sight with your cock out."

"Shut up," Arcade said, tired but fond. "And you're not off the hook. We still have to talk Freeside."

Ricky laughed. "Let's just go back to the '38. I wanna fuck you on the pool table." His cock was straining against his trousers, fat and swollen and lovely. "Can't waste this."

Arcade swallowed and managed a smile of his own. "Waste not, want not."


End file.
